Chapter 193 Where the Hollow Touches
Chapter 193 Where the Hollow Touches
The Hollow
The matter began, as many problems did, with a joke.
Unfortunately, it was a joke made within earshot of exactly the wrong servant.
Lady Ventresca had dispatched one of her household servants into the Hollow to deliver a message regarding changes to the manor’s upper floors. The servant expected to find Caelen somewhere among the construction sites or workshops.
Instead, she discovered him seated beneath an awning outside his command tent.
Maps covered the table before him. Ledgers sat stacked beside his chair. Foremen waited patiently for their turn to speak. Standing around the table were Hollis Var, Seraine, and Lysa Fen.
All three mages were speaking with the enthusiasm of scholars who had discovered a fresh mystery.
Caelen looked trapped.
The servant had nearly approached when several White Company veterans walked past the gathering.
One soldier glanced toward the table and shook his head.
“There they are again.”
Another followed his gaze.
“Who?”
“Caelen’s camp women.”
The soldiers laughed.
A third veteran grinned.
“The poor lad cannot escape them. It does not matter whether he is in the command tent, sitting on his favorite terrace, working in the workshops, or hiding inside that little cave of his. They always seem to find him.”
More laughter followed.
The soldiers continued on their way.
None of them noticed the servant standing nearby.
None of them realized what they had just started.
Lady Ventresca received the report later that evening.
At first, she dismissed the story as idle gossip.
Then she asked a few questions.
The answers led to more questions.
The additional answers led to an investigation.
The results were deeply concerning.
Whenever Caelen could be found on the terrace, one or more of the mages appeared.
Whenever he worked among the craftsmen, the mages appeared.
Whenever he reviewed maps with captains or discussed projects with foremen, the mages appeared.
Even when he retreated into the small, rough-hewn cave that had been carved during the Hollow’s earliest days for himself, Pit, and Tib, the mages somehow appeared there as well.
The cave was barely large enough for its occupants.
That limitation seemed to discourage nobody.
Lady Ventresca spent two full days gathering information.
Afterward, she marched directly into Magus Calvred’s office carrying an alarming collection of notes.
The old mage took one look at Lady Ventresca’s expression and immediately set aside his quill.
“How serious is this matter?” he asked.
Without a word, Lady Ventresca dropped a thick stack of notes onto his desk.
Calvred picked up the first page and began reading.
His eyebrows slowly climbed upward.
Then he turned to the second page.
His eyebrows climbed even higher.
By the time he reached the third page, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed both hands across his face.
For several moments, he simply stared at the ceiling.
Finally, he lowered his hands and looked back at Lady Ventresca.
“This is rather unfortunate.”
Lady Ventresca folded her arms. “That was my conclusion as well.”
…
The intervention occurred three days later.
Caelen entered one of the larger meeting tents, expecting a discussion regarding magical experimentation.
Instead, he found nearly everyone waiting.
Magus Calvred sat at the head of the table.
Lady Ventresca occupied a chair beside him.
Pit lounged nearby with obvious amusement.
Dathran stood against a wall.
Master Builder Baern Korrikson occupied an entire bench by himself.
Several senior mages had also gathered.
Across the room sat Hollis Var, Seraine, and Lysa Fen.
The moment Caelen entered and saw the collection of people who would not gather on their own, his instincts warned him that something was wrong. “What happened?”
The silence that followed was deeply suspicious.
Eventually, Calvred cleared his throat. “Lord Caelen, we need to discuss a matter involving perception.”
Caelen frowned. “What perception?”
Lady Ventresca answered immediately. “Yours.”
His confusion only deepened.
Nearly an hour later, the confusion had transformed into disbelief.
“Camp women?” Caelen repeated.
The room remained silent.
“Someone actually called them camp women?”
Nobody seemed eager to answer.
Dathran finally sighed. “Several members of the White Company have started using that phrase,” Dathran said.
Caelen slowly turned apologetically toward the three mages.
Then he looked back at Dathran.
The meaning behind those words settled over him like a heavy blanket.
“That is not good at all.”
“No, it is not,” Dathran replied.
Caelen buried his face in his hands and groaned.
Across the room, however, the three women looked completely confused.
Seraine folded her arms across her chest.
“We are discussing magical theory.”
“We are aware of that,” Lady Ventresca replied.
Hollis nodded firmly.
“Nothing improper has happened between any of us.”
“We are aware of that as well.”
Lysa leaned forward in her chair.
“We are researching remnant harmonics, essence interactions, and magical resonance.”
“We understand that perfectly.”
The three women exchanged puzzled looks.
“Then what exactly is the problem?” Seraine asked.
A collective groan spread around the room.
Dathran closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
Pit leaned back in his chair and fought desperately to keep from laughing.
Meanwhile, Lady Ventresca sat perfectly still, displaying the patience of a woman who had spent years managing nobles, merchants, and stubborn mages.
At that moment, she looked very much like a saint under siege.
Eventually, Magus Calvred raised a hand and brought the discussion back under control.
“My dear ladies, the problem is not your intentions.”
The room gradually quieted.
“You are all noble-born women,” he continued.
The three mages nodded in agreement.
“Caelen is an unmarried noble heir.”
More nodding followed.
“You also spend an extraordinary amount of time seeking him out.”
The nodding stopped immediately.
Seraine blinked several times. “We have questions that need answers.”
“You can ask those questions during scheduled meetings,” Calvred replied.
Hollis frowned. “Inspiration rarely follows a schedule.”
From somewhere nearby, Pit made a strange choking sound that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
Nobody bothered acknowledging him.
Lysa quickly stepped in to reinforce their position. “Sometimes we discover something important and need immediate answers before we lose the thought.”
Lady Ventresca tilted her head slightly. “At midnight?”
Lysa opened her mouth to answer.
Then she paused.
Then she paused a little longer.
That hesitation damaged her argument far more effectively than any response could have.
Around the room, several people exchanged knowing looks.
Pit finally gave up and hid his face in his hands before the laughter escaped completely. Under his breath, he whispered, “Tib is going to love this!”
Then Dathran decided to intervene.
Unlike everyone else in the room, his words carried the weight of practical experience rather than theory.
“Lord Caelen has actually been trying to avoid this situation for quite some time.”
Three pairs of eyes immediately swung toward Caelen.
His expression suggested a trusted ally had just betrayed him.
Dathran ignored him and continued.
“He never meets with any of you alone.”
The three women blinked in surprise.
“He always makes certain that another person is present.”
The blinking continued.
“Most often, that person is me.”
Pit nodded from his chair.
“Sometimes that person is me.”
“Quite often, both of us are there.”
The three women stared at them.
Then they stared at Caelen.
Then they looked back toward Dathran.
For the first time, they appeared genuinely surprised.
Caelen released a long sigh.
“I honestly thought that was obvious.”
“It was not obvious,” Hollis replied.
“It was painfully obvious,” Lady Ventresca said before anyone else could speak.
Several people around the room nodded their agreement.
The discussion continued for nearly another hour before logic had to bow to experience.
The three mages continued defending themselves.
The nobles continued explaining why appearances mattered.
The scholars argued from logic.
The nobles argued from experience.
Neither side seemed capable of understanding the other.
Then, little by little, the pieces began falling into place.
The women stopped viewing the situation as mages.
They started viewing it as noblewomen.
That small change altered everything.
Suddenly, they remembered the rumors that followed nobles.
They remembered the endless gossip of courts and manors.
They remembered how often appearances mattered more than truth.
The realization arrived slowly.
Then the entire picture came together at once.
All three women froze.
Understanding finally appeared on their faces.
“Oh.”
Lady Ventresca leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
A look of relief spread across her face.
“Exactly,” she said.
For the first time that afternoon, everyone in the room was discussing the same problem.
Once the matter of the mages had finally been settled, Lady Ventresca turned her attention toward Caelen.
“And now we must address your portion of this problem.”
Caelen immediately narrowed his eyes.
“My portion?” he asked suspiciously.
“Yes, your portion,” Lady Ventresca replied.
Caelen pointed toward Hollis, Seraine, and Lysa.
“The three of them have been following me all over the Hollow, and somehow I have a portion?”
“You do,” Lady Ventresca said calmly. “You are moving into the manor.”
Caelen answered so quickly that several people jumped. “I am not,” He spat.
Laughter spread around the room.
Lady Ventresca did not even blink.
“You are.”
“I already have a perfectly good cave.”
That statement caused Pit to bark out a laugh.
Several others joined him.
Pit shook his head. “Caelen, that is not a good cave.”
Caelen looked offended. “That cave is excellent.”
Pit pointed toward him. “That cave is a hole carved into a hillside.”
“It has furniture,” Caelen argued.
Pit looked toward Dathran.
“Rocks and wood stumps barely qualify as furniture.”
“It has a proper door,” Caelen continued.
“It has one door,” Pit replied.
“One door is all that I need.” Caelen countered.
“It remains a cave.” Lady Ventresca stated flatly.
Pit turned toward Calvred and gestured dramatically. “The boy has completely lost perspective.”
The room chuckled again.
Caelen folded his arms. “The cave is warm.”
Several people laughed harder.
Caelen looked around the room, clearly searching for support.
Instead, he found smiles everywhere.
He insisted on the reasons, “The cave is efficient, the cave is practical. The cave is private.”
“If it were truly so, we would not have this current problem.” That comment came from Lady Ventresca.
The room erupted into fresh laughter.
Even Dathran had to look away to hide his grin.
Caelen stared at everyone in disbelief.
“I cannot believe nobody is defending me.”
Pit leaned back comfortably in his chair.
“We would defend you if you were right.”
Caelen pointed accusingly at his oldest friend.
“You lived in that cave.”
Pit nodded immediately.
“I did.”
“Then you should understand.”
“I understand perfectly,” Pit replied. “That is exactly why I know the cave needs to be rebuilt.”
The laughter returned once again.
Caelen looked around the room and slowly realized something.
Nobody was arguing with Pit.
Nobody was defending the cave.
Not even Brother Renn.
That alone felt like another betrayal.
When the laughter finally settled, Lady Ventresca cleared her throat.
The room immediately quieted.
She folded her hands and fixed Caelen with a calm, patient look.
“The matter has already been decided.”
Caelen immediately recognized that tone.
It was the same tone his mother used.
It was the same tone Lady Ventresca used when servants, merchants, nobles, and craftsmen had all failed to listen.
It was the tone that meant the discussion was over.
Unfortunately, that tone almost never worked in Caelen’s favor.
Caelen opened his mouth to argue, but a deep dwarven voice interrupted him.
“That hardly matters anymore.” Everyone turned toward Baern Korrikson.
The dwarf master builder looked completely unconcerned.
Caelen frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Baern shrugged.
“It means we are already remodeling your cave.”
The room fell silent.
Caelen stared at him.
“You are doing what?”
“We are remodeling your cave,” Baern repeated. “In fact, we already started.”
Caelen looked horrified.
“You cannot do that.”
“We absolutely can.”
“I live there.”
Baern grinned, which immediately made the situation worse.
“No, the servants have already removed all your things. “
Caelen looked toward Lady Ventresca, hoping for support.
She smiled pleasantly.
That smile somehow felt more dangerous than any argument.
He looked toward Calvred.
The old mage suddenly became very interested in his paperwork.
Dathran studied the ceiling.
Nobody was willing to help.
Finally, Caelen looked toward Pit.
His oldest friend was grinning shamelessly.
“Do not look at me like that,” Pit said. “We have wanted to rebuild that cave for months.”
“The cave works perfectly.”
“No, it does not.”
“It works for me.”
Pit laughed.
“The rest of us would like to visit without risking injury.”
A few people chuckled.
Then a terrible realization struck Caelen.
Every single person in the room appeared to agree.
For the first time that afternoon, Caelen understood that the intervention had never been entirely about propriety.
Part of it had been a carefully planned conspiracy to get him out of that cave, finally.
The realization settled over Caelen with uncomfortable clarity.
This had never been a simple intervention to protect honor.
They had all conspired, each of them together.
Even Pit had been involved.
Every single person in the room had played a part.
The gathering had begun as an effort to protect noble reputations and prevent foolish rumors. Somewhere along the way, however, it had become something else entirely.
They had used the opportunity to remove him from his cave.
Caelen slowly pointed around the room.
“This was planned from the beginning.”
Nobody answered.
Pit looked entirely too pleased with himself.
That silence told Caelen everything he needed to know.
Across the chamber, Lady Ventresca sat with a look of complete satisfaction.
The young lord shook his head.
“I am filing a complaint.”
“You are welcome to do so,” Lady Ventresca replied smoothly.
That answer immediately made Caelen suspicious.
“With whom?”
“With your mother; she will arrive in a month.”
The room erupted into laughter.
Even Calvred lost the battle to keep a straight face.
Lady Ventresca remained perfectly composed.
“When Lady Seraphine arrives, you may present your concerns directly to her. I am certain she will give them all the consideration they deserve.”
The laughter somehow grew louder in his ears.
Caelen stared at the room and realized nobody believed his mother would side with him.
Not a single person.
…
The cave incident became old news surprisingly fast.
Not because anyone stopped talking about it.
The opposite happened.
The Hollow had discovered something far more interesting.
People were awakening.
At first, nobody noticed the pattern because the awakenings appeared in completely different corners of the Hollow.
The first reports came from the mines.
Old Derran, a salt miner with nearly thirty years underground, discovered he could sense flaws hidden within stone before his pick ever touched the wall. Around the same time, another miner working a different tunnel found he could identify layers of salt and rock simply by running his hand across the surface.
Neither man understood how they were doing it.
The changes were not limited to the mines.
Mara, one of the leather workers, discovered that hides seemed to respond to her touch. Leather that normally required days of preparation could be softened and treated in a fraction of the time. Meanwhile, a butcher named Garen found that his knife moved with impossible precision. He wasted almost nothing, and every cut seemed to land exactly where it should.
Further from the workshops, the fire workers experienced their own surprises.
A charcoal burner who spent his days tending kilns discovered he could sense the temperature of the burning wood without opening the kiln. Another worker responsible for the sugarcane fires found he could guide the burn, spreading heat evenly and preventing waste before problems ever appeared.
Even the hot springs produced strange stories.
One maintenance worker suddenly knew where weaknesses existed in pipes and channels before any damage became visible. Another could somehow sense changes in water pressure throughout the system, often identifying problems hours before they appeared.
The strangest reports came from the gardens.
An older woman named Tessa, who spent most of her days tending vegetables, noticed that plants under her care simply grew better. Seeds sprouted faster. Leaves grew greener. Harvests became larger. She could not explain it, and neither could anyone else.
The awakenings came from different people, different backgrounds, and different walks of life. Some were old. Some were young. Some worked underground while others spent their days beneath the open sky.
Yet every gift seemed connected to the person who received it.
The miner awakened gifts tied to stone.
The leather worker awakened gifts tied to leather.
The gardener awakened gifts tied to growing things.
Nobody understood why.
The mages, however, nearly lost their minds.
Every new report sent them racing across the Hollow. Every awakened gift raised more questions than answers. Before long, Hollis, Seraine, and Lysa seemed to spend more time chasing rumors than performing actual research.
For the first time, even Magus Calvred admitted something that made the younger mages deeply uncomfortable.
The Hollow was changing people.
And nobody understood how.
Magus Calvred attempted to create records.
Lysa attempted interviews.
Seraine attempted observations.
Hollis attempted organization.
Within three days, all three women were sprinting across the Hollow chasing reports of newly awakened gifts.
Within five days, they had completely abandoned any illusion of having a schedule.
Every time somebody shouted that another gift had appeared, a mage could usually be seen running in that direction.
The greatest surprise, however, came from Pit.
The discovery happened during the reconstruction of Caelen’s cave.
Or, as Lady Ventresca preferred calling it, “the future residence.”
The builders had already begun planning the new cave.
What had once been a simple shelter would become a proper seven-chamber home, complete with living space, storage rooms, workshops, and larger gathering areas.
Several of the new chambers required wide ceilings supported by stone arches.
Under normal circumstances, the miners would have used heavy timber supports while carving the chambers. The dwarves were already measuring lumber and discussing construction methods when Pit wandered over to inspect the work.
At first, nobody paid him much attention.
Pit rested one hand against a wall and frowned.
Something felt different.
The stone beneath his fingers felt strangely familiar, almost as if it were responding to him.
Then the rock shifted.
The movement was small, but everyone nearby saw it.
Pit immediately pulled his hand away.
The chamber grew quiet.
Baern Korrikson looked from the wall to Pit and then back again.
“What did you just do?”
Pit stared at the stone.
“I honestly do not know.”
“Try it again.”
Pit slowly placed his hand back against the wall.
The stone moved.
Gasps echoed through the chamber as the rock softened and flowed beneath his fingers like wet clay.
Pit instinctively moved his hand through the air.
The stone followed.
Everyone watched as an arch slowly emerged from the wall.
Nobody carved it.
Nobody cut it.
The stone simply reshaped itself.
The rock curved into a perfect arch without a single crack or flaw. There were no weak points, tool marks, or seams. The structure looked as though it had grown naturally inside the mountain.
Silence filled the chamber.
Several dwarves stared openly.
Baern stepped forward and carefully examined the arch, running both hands across the smooth stone surface.
Then he examined it a second time.
Finally, the dwarf placed both hands against the stone and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, his expression had completely changed.
“It is stronger.”
Pit blinked in confusion.
“What is stronger?”
“This arch,” Baern said. “It is stronger than cut stone.”
The dwarf ran his hand along the smooth curve.
“There are no seams. There are no fractures. There are no weak points.”
His voice rose with excitement.
“This should not be possible.”
More dwarves rushed forward.
Within minutes, they surrounded the arch, running their hands across the stone and arguing with one another in increasingly excited voices.
The cave erupted into chaos.
One dwarf sprinted off to find Magus Calvred.
Another ran for the mages.
Someone else rushed to find Caelen.
The mages arrived first.
Lysa nearly tripped over a tool chest trying to reach the arch.
Hollis appeared moments later with a notebook already open.
Seraine arrived close behind them and immediately demanded another demonstration.
Pit barely had time to protest.
For the next hour, he repeatedly touched stone walls, pillars, and blocks while the mages crowded around him.
Every movement produced new questions.
Every shaped stone produced another page of notes.
The more Pit demonstrated, the more excited the mages became.
By the end of the afternoon, they were following him through the cave like hunters tracking some rare and valuable creature.
By sunset, news had spread throughout the entire Hollow.
Another gift had awakened.
This was not a small talent.
This was not a simple improvement to an existing skill.
This was something entirely new.
As reports continued arriving from miners, craftsmen, farmers, charcoal burners, leather workers, and healers, a single truth became impossible to ignore.
The gifts were not appearing randomly.
People were awakening abilities connected to the work they loved, the skills they practiced, and the lives they lived every day.
The Hollow was changing.
Not slowly.
Not one person at a time.
The entire community seemed to be awakening together.
…
Mira was terrified of Lady Ventresca.
Most people were.
The noblewoman never raised her voice. She rarely showed anger. Somehow, that only made her more intimidating.
Mira had been serving in the manor for less than two months, and every day felt like a test she had not studied for.
Then Lord Caelen moved into the manor.
That somehow made everything worse.
He was the second son of House Avalon.
The boy who spoke with mages.
The boy who worked with dwarves.
The boy who built impossible things.
The boy who wandered into dangerous places and somehow returned with even more ideas than before.
Mira had expected someone important.
Instead, she found someone confusing.
Whenever she entered his room, she became nervous.
She would bump into furniture.
Drop a cloth.
She nearly tripped over her own feet.
Once she accidentally knocked over a stack of books.
She had expected anger.
Instead, Caelen had helped pick them up.
Another time, she spilled water while changing a pitcher.
He had simply handed her a towel.
The kindness only made her more nervous.
She could never understand it.
The distance between their stations was enormous.
Yet he treated her as though she were simply another person.
That made no sense at all.
One afternoon, Mira entered his room carrying fresh linens.
She immediately stopped.
The room was a disaster.
Not the normal kind.
A different kind.
The desk beneath the window had vanished beneath dozens of stones.
Red stones.
Green stones.
Yellow stones.
Blue stones.
Small bowls covered the surface.
Several mortars and pestles sat nearby.
Sheets of paper were scattered everywhere.
Caelen sat in the middle of the chaos.
He looked delighted.
Mira quietly began changing the bedding.
At least she intended to.
Instead, she found herself watching.
Caelen selected a deep blue stone.
He placed it inside a mortar.
Then he carefully crushed it.
The grinding continued until the stone became a fine powder.
The powder looked almost like colored dust.
Next came a green stone.
Then a reddish-brown stone.
Then a yellow stone bright enough to resemble sunlight.
Small piles of color slowly appeared across the desk.
Mira drifted closer.
Without realizing it.
“What are those?” she finally asked.
Caelen looked up and smiled.
“Paint.”
She blinked.
“Paint comes from rocks?”
“Some of it does.”
His smile widened.
“Watch.”
He pointed toward several shallow dishes.
The colorful powders had been mixed with a binder made from gum and a little honey. The mixture had been pressed into small cakes and left to dry.
They looked unimpressive.
Then Caelen dipped a brush into water.
He touched the brush to one of the dried cakes.
Immediately, a brilliant blue color spread across the wet bristles.
Mira’s eyes widened.
“It comes back to life?”
Caelen smiled.
“It comes back every time.”
He lowered the brush to the paper.
A streak of blue appeared across the white surface.
Another stroke followed.
Then came green.
Then yellow.
The colors flowed together and blended into something entirely new. They spread across the page with a beauty that felt almost magical.
Mira forgot about the bedding she was supposed to change.
She forgot about the room around her.
Soon, she forgot about everything except the colors.
Without realizing it, she stepped closer.
Then she moved even closer.
Before long, she was standing directly behind Caelen, watching every movement of his brush.
Blue became sky.
Green became grass.
Brown became earth.
The blank sheet slowly transformed into a picture.
Mira had never seen anything so beautiful.
Several minutes passed before Caelen glanced over his shoulder.
Mira never noticed.
She was completely absorbed in what she was seeing.
A smile spread across his face.
“You know,” he said, “it is very difficult to paint when someone is standing right behind me.”
Mira jumped so hard she nearly stumbled backward.
Heat rushed into her cheeks.
“I am sorry, my lord.”
Caelen chuckled.
“You look far more interested than sorry.”
That only made her blush harder.
For a moment, she wished the floor would open and swallow her whole.
Meanwhile, Caelen simply laughed and turned back to the desk.
Then Caelen stood and pointed toward the wide window seat overlooking the gardens and the tower beyond.
“Come over here.”
Mira blinked.
“My lord?”
“Come over here,” he repeated with a smile.
Nervously, she crossed the room.
Caelen placed a smooth board across her lap and handed her a fresh sheet of white paper.
Next came several small cakes of dried paint.
Finally, he placed a brush into her hand.
Mira stared at the supplies as though they were dangerous.
“I cannot do this.”
Caelen raised an eyebrow.
“Have you ever tried?”
Mira hesitated.
“No, my lord.”
“Then how do you know?”
She opened her mouth to answer. No answer came.
The lesson began simply.
Caelen showed her how to wet the brush and gather color from the paint cakes. He explained how more water made the colors lighter and how less water made them richer and stronger.
He demonstrated how colors could blend or remain separate.
Mira listened carefully to every word.
Then she finally touched the brush to the paper.
The first stroke surprised her.
The second stroke felt easier.
By the third stroke, a small smile had appeared on her face.
She never even realized it.
Caelen noticed immediately.
He said nothing.
Instead, he sat quietly and watched.
The nervous servant girl slowly disappeared.
The clumsy girl who dropped books and spilled water seemed to vanish as well.
In her place sat someone completely focused on the page before her.
Every brushstroke seemed natural.
Every color seemed to go exactly where it belonged.
Minutes slipped away.
Then more minutes followed.
Before either of them realized it, nearly an hour had passed.
At some point, Mira painted the hills beyond the manor walls.
Then she painted the river winding through the valley.
Soft clouds drifted across the page.
The colors flowed naturally from her brush as though they had always belonged there.
When she finally stopped, she stared at the finished painting in wonder.
“So pretty,” she whispered.
Caelen studied the painting.
Then he studied Mira.
A smile slowly returned to his face.
The painting truly was beautiful.
That was not what had caught his attention, however.
For the first time since he had met her, Mira was not nervous.
For the first time, she looked completely comfortable.
More importantly, she looked happy.
…
When Lady Ventresca first saw the watercolor paintings, she felt the familiar warning signs of another impending headache. The colors were brighter than anything commonly available, the paints could be dried and stored for months, and even a servant girl with no formal training had produced something beautiful after a single lesson. She immediately understood what the nobility would do once they saw them. Every noble house on the continent would want portraits, landscapes, family histories, maps, and illuminated records created with these vibrant new colors. Lady Ventresca pinched the bridge of her nose as she imagined the merchants, artists, nobles, and guilds that would soon descend upon Avalon, demanding access. Then her gaze drifted toward Caelen, who was crossing the garden with the fountain craftsman, deep in yet another discussion. She released a long, weary sigh as she watched him. How was it that the boy could never simply change one small thing? Every idea seemed to lead to another, and before anyone could catch their breath, he was already determined to transform ten others at the same time.